Tired Days
by TheGullibleOne
Summary: John Watson was tired, really tired. The sleepless nights of the past week had finally caught up with him. But it wasn't the nightmares that kept him awake, oh no. It was that thing…
1. Chapter 1

1

John Watson was tired, really tired. The sleepless nights of the past week had finally caught up with him. But it wasn't the nightmares that kept him awake, oh no. It was that _thing_… That _thing, _which experimented _every_ night, played his violin in the early hours of _every_ morning and _constantly _expected him to come to him when he calls…

_Not this time_, John thought, trying to shut out the noises of whatever that _thing _was doing downstairs. He turned onto his side, sighing, it was only a matter of seconds until-

"John…?" – He called for him…. _Great_, John thought sullenly, eyebrows furrowed, _what does he bloody want now..? S_cowling, he stuck his head under his pillow in attempt to block out the noise.

"John!" John threw the pillow to the side in frustration, hitting the wall with a soft _thud_.

"JOHN!" The _thing_ called out again, followed by footsteps up the stairs… _Oh please don't come in here_, John groaned, squeezing his eyes shut…

The footsteps came closer, louder, echoing through the hallway… And then they stopped, right outside his door.

"John?" The _thing _whispered through the door, knocking gently on the wood. John just could imagine the confusion decorating his young flatmates face. _Oh I wish I had a camera on me_, he thought slyly.

He heard the door handle rattle, and the door creaked open. The light shone brightly in, illuminating the figure which stood within the doors frame. Sherlock frowned.

"John…? John!" Sherlock called out again, stepping into the room. John turned round to face his intruder.

"_What, Sherlock? What can it possibly be NOW?_" John growled at the tall man, covering his eyes from the sudden light.

"You were asleep…" Sherlock mumbled, amused.

"Of course I bloody was! What do you expect? It's two in the morning," John said angrily, sitting up, "_Now what is it?_"

"I was… Well… I'm _BORED_, John…" Sherlock stated, crossing his arms like an impatient child. He sniffed.

"And you have been for god knows how long," John hissed, "Don't you understand…? _I_ _need sleep_!"

"Ah, but John," Sherlock sniffed again, leaning backwards against the door frame, "Rest is _boring_ and it's _pointless_… I need to stay awake!" _Its like speaking to a bloody child_, thought John, running a hand through his hair.

"It _might _be pointless for you, Sherlock, but I need sleep…"

"Even with the nightmares?" Frowned Sherlock, looking down at John like a confused puppy.

"Yes… Even with the nightmares…. Look, Sherlock, I'm tired," He sighed, remembering the week's events, "I've been running around after you all week… Don't you think I need some rest?"

Sherlock stood there, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He blinked, "But I'm bored, John…" he whined. Slapping his head in frustration, John gave up.

"And I'm tired… Go away… Can you please, just for this once, keep yourself entertained…?"

"But-"

"Just GO Sherlock!" John snapped, lying down back into the comforts of his bed. After closing his eyes, he heard Sherlock sigh once more. _Does he have a cold? Or is he just sulking..? _The door slammed. _Most likely to be sulking then…_

John awoke to silence, not a single sound could be heard within 221b. John abruptly sat up, throwing the covers off him, worried. _Could he have gone too far..? _Throwing the covers carelessly to the side, he bolted from the room, grabbing his dressing gown on the way.

Reaching the living room, still the silence stayed. Hesitantly, he poked his head around the door, afraid to see his friend lying on the floor unconscious.

"Sherlock?" He called out, tying his dressing gown up. No answer. Frowning, he checked the room for any signs of where he may have gone… Nothing. He pulled out his phone, and dialled Sherlock; but it went straight to voicemail.

"Sherlock… I know you're listening and I'm sorry about last night, it's just that you caught me in a bad mood… ok? Please call back…" He hung up, and went straight to Mycroft's number. His finger hovered over the number, _should I? _He quickly closed down the number; he didn't want to get Sherlock's brother involved, especially if it weren't major…

Instead he called Lestrade.

"John! How can I help?

"It's Sherlock… Is he there?"

"No… But he called at half two this morning, demanding for a case; but London has been quiet this month. He wasn't too happy about that… Uh, why did you ask?"

"It's nothing, thanks Lestrade."

"John, what's-"

He quickly ended the call, and sighed. If Sherlock wasn't with Lestrade, who knew where he'd be… He flung himself onto the armchair, and waited, his phone loosely held in his hand.

He wouldn't turn to Mycroft…

Yet…


	2. Chapter 2

2

"John, dear! Would you like something to drink..?" Mrs Hudson entered the room, carrying a tray of tea. She smiled at the frowning man, who was leaning forwards clutching his face. John warily glanced up, and sighed. _Not Sherlock…._

"No thanks, Mrs Hudson - I'm fine…" He returned to watching the blank television.

"Dear - Surely you can't _still _be waiting for him," She sat down by him, slightly puzzled, placing the tray on the table, "It's been hours… And you haven't moved a bit!"

"It's just - I don't know where he is… After last night… I'm worried about what he's gone and done…"

"What do you mean, dear…? After last night..?" She moved closer, intrigued. A smile creeping across her face.

"Mrs Hudson! We are not - we didn't…! Look… I was tired; trying to get some sleep – and he wouldn't leave me be… He was bored… So I - I told him to just go away… he didn't take it well…"

"Oh," She sat back, picking up a teacup, "So… Why are you waiting…?"

"I don't know… I-"

The door downstairs slammed shut, causing Mrs Hudson to nearly drop her drink in shock. They heard footsteps, getting closer, and then stop. Crossing his arms angrily, John sat back. Seconds passed. Minutes. Then the door slowly opened; the handle rattling. _Something's wrong… _thought John, tilting his head. He watched the taller man walk into the room, shaking, and sit himself next to Mrs Hudson; whom he ignored.

"Sherlock…" The man blankly looked up, hearing his name. _He seems different…_ John noted.

"Sherlock…? Where have you been?"

"I – I… I don't know…" Sherlock whispered, looking down at his lap. _Obviously hiding something… but what?_

"What happened then..? Is there something you need to talk about?" John glanced at Mrs Hudson, "Privately?"

Taking her cue to leave, she left; once again did Sherlock fail to acknowledge her. Sighing, John went over to sit next to his silent flatmate.

"Sherlock, please…"

"John, for the last time, I do not know where I was…"

"Ok… but do you know - why you was… wherever you was…?"

"I… I – uh… was bored…"

"Bored, right, of course you were," Silence, "… was anyone else there?"

Sherlock paled slightly. "No… No-one… I was –_ alone,_" _Too fast_, John thought, creasing his eyebrows. "I need to go -"

"Sherlock... You just got here…"

He stood up, "… to my room." John watched after him, confused. _What has he done? This isn't him… Isn't like him at all… _His thoughts trailed off, but he knew what to do.

Tentatively, he picked up his phone, and dialled.

* * *

Upstairs, Sherlock was sprawled out on his bed, thinking, no, remembering, about the early morning's events. The adrenalin still pumped through his veins, and it wouldn't leave him be… The images just refused to be deleted… He sighed, closing his eyes in despair. Surely he hadn't… _enjoyed_ what he had done, he couldn't have… but what else would explain the shaking? Shock? _No_, he thought, frowning, _I… It - _

John mustn't find out…

He couldn't…

What would he think of him then?

_I didn't mean to_, he kept telling himself repeatedly, _it… it was an accident… I – I can't explain… I… _He stopped, mid-thought, an unnerving smile suddenly plastered onto his face, as no matter how much he could deny it, he knew, deep down, he had.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Just want to say.. thanks for the reviews! And don't worry, it should, hopefully, begin to get more obvious...**

3

The eerie silence of the old abandoned warehouse was broken, as John cursed heatedly at a crate he had just walked into. He paused, glancing around. The crates stood within the shadows, looming high above him, covered in dust. And no-one was in sight. _Trust Mycroft to pick somewhere dramatic_, he thought dryly as he watched the shadows carefully. He knew the other man lurked somewhere within its holds, analysing his every move.

"You can be rather peculiar at times…" Mycroft emerged from the shadows, clutching his umbrella beneath his arm.

"And you can be… annoying…" Mycroft smirked.

"Annoying, really? I'd never have known. I'm sure that Sherlock would have been a bit more… imaginative," He studied John, and then suddenly frowned, "That's why you called, is it not? What has he done now?"

"I, uh, don't know…"

"And you arranged –"

"_You _picked here…"

"As I was saying, you arranged this meeting to discuss him, due to the fact that you don't know what he's gone and _done_? Explain." He asked curiously, leaning against the umbrella.

"Well, he's acting different, well, not his normal self… He couldn't even tell me where he went, which is strange, as he always knows where he's going… and that he was there because he was bored…"

"I see," He walked closer to where John stood, smirking, "Are you sure he didn't just go out and have… some fun?"

"W-what?" John bit back his surprise. _Some fun? What a way to put it…_ "No, I don't think so… It didn't, occur to me that he'd be into that…"

"Nor did I… But you never know with him." They stood there, staring at each other, amused. "Why did you call me 'Sarah' again?" The smile on Mycroft's face vanished, replaced with a frown.

"Oh, I… Didn't want him to know I called you…" John smiled.

"Right."

"And you know what he's like when you're involved…"

"Ah yes… He can be rather stubborn and childish…"

"Exactly… We'd never get anywhere with him… So I thought it would be easier if he didn't know…"

"Betraying his trust? How peculiar…"

"I'm not betraying him! Just… looking for answers…"

"Yes of course… That's why you wanted me here," Mycroft tapped impatiently on the umbrella's handle, frowning. "However, I am unable to help. Where did he go during the early hours of this morning? That's a question left only for my brother to answer…"

"You can't tell me anything? Nothing at all?"

"I do not know everything, Dr Watson, there are things which should be kept secret," He noted the frown on John's face, "He managed to evade the surveillance I placed on him, he didn't want to be watched. Otherwise, I would have the answer by now. Are we done?"

"No! I mean, I don't know what to do. What -"

"- if it happens again? Follow him." Mycroft interrupted, turning around to face the darkness.

"Follow him… That's all?" John glared after the other man, annoyed with his blunt answers.

"Yes, Dr Watson. Follow him. Just don't let him see you…"

And with that, he was gone, leaving John alone in the warehouse, annoyed. _Don't let him see you? Oh, that would easy… Thanks a lot Mycroft… _He thought sarcastically. Sighing, he made his way home.

* * *

After John had stated that he was off to see Sarah, Sherlock thought it was safe to move back into the living room, where he'd be alone, away from John's questioning glares. So he sat there, bored, flicking through every single channel of the television. How they called it 'entertainment' he'd never know. Sighing, he threw the remote to the side, and sat back.

"_Bored…_" He whispered, pulling his legs up to his chest. But he wouldn't let boredom overpower him, not again… He couldn't… Instead, he turned to face the skull, which he had finally found after Mrs Hudson tried to hide it, _again_.

"I don't know what to do," He admitted quietly, as if he was afraid someone would hear him confess to a skull. "Everything – everything's gone wrong… I didn't think I'd go that far… I just couldn't control it… But-" _But I enjoyed it, every last bit… Everything_, he thought, grimacing at the memories. Why wouldn't it let itself be deleted? Closing his eyes, he tried to blank everything out.

Not long afterwards, he awoke to floorboards creaking. Sitting up, he frowned at John, who sat opposite him, soaked.

"You're early." John sighed.

"It seemed she… had other plans for later on…" John carefully worded the sentence; he couldn't let Sherlock know about his meeting.

"Oh," The cold grey eyes bore into him, trying to read him. "You're wet too."

"Obviously… I couldn't find any taxis," He couldn't, that was true. But that was because taxis didn't go near old, abandoned warehouses… How nice of Mycroft to _not _offer him a lift… "Sherlock…"

"So you walked in the rain… How was Sarah then?"

"Annoy- I mean, fine. Sarah was fine… Sherlock?" _That was close_…

"Hmm," Sherlock sat back, hands forming a tent, "So where did you meet up exactly? An old… warehouse?"

"No…?" _Shit…_

"Not very romantic… especially with all the _dust_… No perfume too! How - strange…" A small smile began to form on Sherlock's face. _He knows… he bloody knows!_

"It wasn't a date… Just met up - with her…"

"Right," Sherlock drawled out the words, "So the fact that my persistent brothers' scent surrounds you," _shit,_ "doesn't mean a thing? Let me guess, he told you to follow me…"

"I can e-"

"Wrong… You can't hide things from me, _John… _I'll work it out… _Always_…"

"You can speak, Sherlock, because I to you can do the same, even if it'll take me a while longer." From where he was sitting, he could see Sherlock pale. _Good… We're getting somewhere._

"John…"

"If you tell me what you did, it would be easier… for both of us…" John stated clearly, trying to see behind the walls.

"No. I… Night, John." Sherlock stood, and walked out of the room, avoiding the worried look from John. He didn't turn back to face him, he couldn't. _I can't do anything… _he thought, whilst trudging up the stairs to his room.

Alone, again, John sat back, suddenly exhausted. From doing nothing all day, to walking half of London back and forth for literally nothing, he couldn't blame it. He deserved a rest, and with Sherlock's moody behaviour he knew that the violin would probably be left alone. And that the sleep he'd lost could finally be gained. He closed his eyes, drifting towards sleep, trying to ignore the questions that had been left unanswered. _What did he do? What? _He needed to find out…

Ring, ring

What was that? He opened his eyes hastily, glaring at the interruption, Sherlock's phone…He picked up the abandoned item, and read the caller: Lestrade… _What could he possibly want? _Accepting it, he yawned.

"Sherlock, its urgent…" The voice boomed through the speakers.

"Its John…"

"Oh… Well, there's been a murder. Grab your coats and get here now, _both _of you!"

"Ok… See you in a bit…"

_Great… When can I ever get a rest_


	4. Chapter 4

4.

**AN: I believe that John is OOC here… But feel free to tell me what you think of the chapter =]**

**Took me a while to write, and I want to thank my two friends, who I shan't name, who helped me with this one and the next (which should pop up soon-ish...)**

_**Posted by John H. Watson**_

**Against All Odds…**

It all began with that phone call from Lestrade, and to be honest, I'm still not sure about how things have ended up like they are. So, if you're reading this Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't know things would get out of hand like this! I'm skipping the confrontation after the phone call from Lestrade… And start off with my arrival at Scotland Yard.

I had been standing by Lestrade's office for a while – alone - examining some of the photos, which had been stuck to a whiteboard. I had guessed these were of the latest murder.

"Florence Harper, late teens," Startled, I turned round to face a sullen Lestrade. "She was found in the alley exactly," He glanced at his watch, "exactly two hours ago. Cause of death? From what we saw, it looks likely to be strangulation… but we need the forensics team to investigate further. And before you ask, yes its Anderson, Sherlo…" Lestrade trailed off, staring blankly towards me. Sudden realisation flickered across his face. "Uh, John...?"

"Lestrade…" I nodded curtly, smiling politely at the DI. I knew what was coming.

"Sherlock, he's where exactly…?"

"At home… He, uh, refused to come…" Lestrade frowned.

"Right… Did you tell him it's a-"

"A murder, yes. God knows how many times."

"But he never turns-"

"Turns a case down? Yep, told him that too…"

"Really? What is up with him?" Lestrade shuffled his notes impatiently, and then paused. "This morning, you called, asking for Sherlock?"

"Ye-es… Why?" He beckoned me over, shoving the case notes into my hands. "'_Florence Harper_," it read,_ "was reported missing at half three, due to not returning home and of the lack of contact between herself and her parents… She was last seen walking down an alley at a quarter to three by a group of friends...'_ So what has Sherlock got to do with this?" I asked, waving the paper about.

"What time did you last hear of him? See him, even?"

"Around - two… I'm still not getting it…" I replied.

"And at half two he called me… Moments later, the girl goes missing… Coincidence or have we got our first suspect?"

"First susp - No… You don't think he…? He couldn't have…"

"I don't know; that's the thing. But he's now our first suspect. Believe me, John, if this is the case, the whole of London is going to suffer… However, I can't just let him go on by, even if he _is _Sherlock…"

The pointless discussion continued, and it left me thinking, could I trust him? Could I really trust my flatmate, even if he is a sociopath? So he can be arrogant, cold, untidy and down right disrespectful, but I know he opens up to me more than he ever does with others, so could that mean he trusts me? He's shown me that he can be caring, thoughtful and that he actually has a heart! But could I put all my faith into this one, odd man?

Against all odds, I believe I can.

That was what I thought at the time. But now? I'm not so sure. As soon as I arrived at Baker Street, I was once again greeted to silence. The living room was left in its usual state, papers scattered around everywhere, experiments left abandoned on the table, including the violin – all of Sherlock's, of course - proving that the said man hadn't yet emerged himself from his room.

"I'm back…" I called out, from the bottom of the stairs. No answer. "Sherlock?" Still, none. Tentatively, I made my way up to his room, questions beginning to creep into my mind. The annoying thing was, I knew that they still weren't going to be answered. _Could he really have done it? Can I really be sure that I can trust what ever he tells me? Will he tell me?_ I neared closer to his room… _I thought I said I trusted him… Am I beginning to believe Lestrade's idea? _Then suddenly, I stopped, aghast. I swear that I could hear muffled sobbing coming from his room. I walked towards his door, unsure of what to do. What could I say? '_Are you alright_'? No… He'd hate that… To – mundane… '_Sherlock, are you – crying?_' That definitely would not do. But it would have been better than what I did… I regret it badly…

Hand on the door; I opened it slowly, trying to control my expression. He was sprawled out on his bed, but faced the wall. He was shaking uncontrollably, letting the tears flow. I didn't know what to do…

"Sherlock…"

He froze.

"We need to talk…"

Nothing, I let out an exasperated sigh. _What is happening? _I had thought, _Why? Why all this now?_

"Just… Just _stop_!" I had yelled, oh god, did I yell at him. Why did I yell at him like that? That surely wasn't me… Was it?

But he did stop.

Just like that.

That was too easy…

"You _disappear_ for hours, leaving me here… alone… worried_. _You don't reply to any of my calls. NOTHING!" Pausing, I glanced at the whimpering form, _why hadn't I just stopped there? _"Then you return, not telling me _anything_ about what you did, where you went… None of my business? Or are you hiding something…? _Tell me, Sherlock… TELL ME!"_

He said nothing.

"Lestrade called, as you know…" I had spoken quieter, alarmingly quieter. "So I went. It was a murder of a girl, Sherlock. Ring any bells? Or is it, like Lestrade said, a coincidence? With you disappearing, bored, then a sudden murder?"

Slowly, he turned round to face me, grief-stricken, betrayed. The tears stained his face.

"I…" he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. I froze. What had I done? I didn't say anything, too shocked from my outburst… but I did the best thing a friend could do.

Nervously, I had stumbled my way towards him. Once within my reach, I hugged the whimpering form tightly, attempting what I should have done in the first place: give him comfort. But he didn't return it. He just tensed up, showing another emotion; scared. One I didn't want to see him use…

"I'm… sorry…" I finally said at last, once he had quietened down.

All I got was a muffled whimper.

I deserved nothing else.

* * *

_**Comment by theimprobableone**_

you told him? smart move…

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

Not helping…

_**Comment by H. Watson**_

Poor Sherly, do you know why he cried?

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

No… My – outburst didn't help matters… I'll speak to him later…

_**Comment by H. Watson**_

You better, little brother. Where is he now?

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

Huddled next to me on the sofa, asleep (for once…) He looks exhausted.

_**Comment by H. Watson**_

Aaw =]

_**Comment by M. Turner**_

So that's what the noise was!

_**Comment by M. Turner**_

It's Mrs Hudson…

_**Comment by youknowwho**_

You think, Dr Watson, that he did _that? _Like I said, you can be rather peculiar at times…

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

*_Comment deleted_*

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

You can't delete my comments! Just because I said your name!

_**Comment by youknowwho**_

I can, and I will

_**Comment by S. Holmes**_

Wrong.

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

What? How…?

_**Comment by S. Holmes**_

Thing called a phone, John. And you're wrong. I didn't do it.

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

I'm right next to you!

_**Comment by J. Watson**_

I'm sorry.

_**Comment by S. Holmes**_

I know…


	5. Chapter 5 part 1

**AN: I said the next would come soon!**

**But its a short one.. and a two parter... and hopefully will be up tomorrow  
**

**Enjoy =D**

5i

John had gone without him: a case, without _him_. Sherlock thought that he would stay with him, stay in 221b. Annoyingly, he was wrong. And for some unknown reason, it _hurt_. It _hurt _that John had left him for a murder case. But why? Why did it _hurt_? He liked John - as a friend that is - and John understood and tolerated him. The thing was, Sherlock Holmes didn't really understand John, and that was what made him interesting. To him anyway, and not many people managed to do that.

But what made it _hurt_?

'_He's gone to Lestrade to help with a murder case, he'll b…' _He stopped mid-thought, collapsing backwards onto his bed. '_Murder case… oh...'_

The memories flooded back, the ones that just refused to be deleted, the ones that caused him to _hurt…_

_

* * *

_'_He had just left Baker Street, bored, alone, and annoyed; annoyed at John's refusal. Why didn't he want to help him overcome his boredom? Ah yes, he was 'tired'… Well, if John couldn't help him. Maybe Lestrade could… Pulling out his phone, he dialled him._

_ "Its half two in the morning, what do you want?" The tired voice of the DI sounded after several minutes of waiting._

_ "Case. Now." He demanded, stopping abruptly. Lestrade sighed._

_ "I'm afraid there's none, Sherlock. London has been quiet for the past month… Now if you don't mind, I'd like to use that time to actually have some rest."_

_ "Rest? _Rest? _What is it with everyone wanting a 'rest'? I'm bored, Lestrade. Bored… Bored… _Bored! _There's nothing for me to do… _Nothing! _There has to be something! A small one perhaps, a cat stuck up a tree? A small theft?"_

_ "Look, there's nothing. Like I said, Lon-" He hung up, pocketing the phone. What was the use in listening to Lestrade repeat himself? Stupid criminals, can't they see that he's bored?_

_He carried on walking. He didn't care where, he didn't care why, he just kept walking, trying to ease off the boredom. And that was when he saw her; the young girl – eighteen, by the looks of it - walk into the alley. He followed, unsure of what he was doing. What _was _he going to do? Still, he kept his distance. Following, watching, and deducing everything. She turned round a corner, escaping his sight. He walked faster, trying to catch up with-_

_ "Let go of me!"_

_Sherlock stopped._

_ "I said let go of – oh god, please… stop…"_

_Paling, he tried to turn round, to get away, but he couldn't. He was too… intrigued… fascinated… by the commotion from around the corner… and he hated it, he hated himself. Worst of all, he couldn't stop himself from walking, walking towards the noise._


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I said I'd get it up tomorrow... And I have =D**

**Don't know when I'll next update... Its going to be a busy week at school...**

5ii

The memory fades, leaving Sherlock sprawled out on his bed, clutching the sheets tightly. Coughing, he turned round to face the wall, curling into a protective ball, knowing all to well that it wasn't over yet.

_"No... no… please… Someone – help m…"_

He shivered violently, trying to get rid of the memories, and to hold back those inevitable tears. It didn't work. The tears slid down his face freely, like a small stream. He couldn't stop them, he couldn't stop anything…

_"Shh… I said… Shut _up_!_ _Now… Be a… good little girl…"_

The tears were now a fluent river, ceasing to end. He closed his eyes desperately, trying to block the images. Again, it didn't work. It wasn't fair… He had enough.

He wanted it to stop.

Just,

Stop.

But that could never happen, not with him… Never with him… Inadequately, he gave in, and let the memories once more take over.

* * *

'_The screaming had quietened down to sobbing by the time Sherlock had reached the corner. He stopped himself from walking further, sighing in relief, and tried to back away. But found that he couldn't, he was rooted to the spot. He tried again, the same result. 'Damn it! Come on', he pleaded silently with himself, pulling at his hair in desperation, to no avail. So instead, he stayed, listening to the act of humiliation, the guilt piling up, along with the sympathy, and stored it into his hard-drive._

_He didn't know how long he stood there, listening to the sobbing grow even quieter, and by the sounds of it, the attacker must have been long gone. It was just him, and the girl. If John was here, he'd have gone and sorted it out as soon as he heard the commotion, not just stood there, intrigued by it. But Sherlock was no John, he was helpless as he was cold. He was a sociopath, not a hero. They didn't exist. Never have. So why was he feeling bad about the girl? And why the guilt? Because he could have made the existence of heroes known, maybe? Because he knew what was happening, and didn't do anything about it? For once, he didn't know._

'_Maybe I could be the hero now?' He thought sarcastically, building up the courage to face the scene just around the corner. Gulping, he closed his eyes, and took one-step forward, followed by another, and another, until he hit something soft. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and looked down._

_The girl was slumped across the alley, her chest faintly rising. Her clothes were ripped, and she looked a mess. And, as Sherlock has deduced, the attacker was nowhere in sight. Scowling at the way she had been left, he made his way to her, picking up the clothing she was missing. Once he reached her side, he sat beside the fragile, limp form, suddenly ashamed of his actions – more of his _lack _of actions – and of his curiosity of the whole situation._

_Deciding to cover her up, out of respect, he made a move to put her missing clothes back on. But he was held back. Frowning, he inspected what kept him from proceeding with his actions. A hand, the girls hand, gripped tightly around his arm._

_ "D-don't.. Ple-ase… No… mo-re…" She whispered, making no move to let go. 'She must think I'm her… rapist…' Sherlock thought._

_ "I.. I didn't…"_

_ "_Mean _to..?" She held tighter, "just kill… me already…" He frowned deeper, kill her? She must be joking. He won't kill her. There's no reason for him to. But the intensity of her glare made him think otherwise._

_ "That's… w-what they, do isn't… it?" She exhaled deeply, "Kill… after they – attack? Or… or risk getting… c-caught?"_

_ "I…" She was right, and Sherlock knew it. Even though he didn't commit the crime, she didn't know. All she knew was that he was there, just moments after her attack. But he couldn't do it… Could he?_

_ "L-look… at you… and you… think that – that I look a… a mess…" She laughed feebly. But stopped, suddenly remembering where she was, and sniffed. "M-make… it q-quick…" He nodded automatically, and looked around. There was nothing in sight to use… Except his hands…_

_He gripped her throat, feeling the vain pulse beneath his grip. He couldn't… He couldn't…_

"_Think of it as an experiment, how quick it takes for the body to… no… think that you're at the morgue, with a corpse… experimenting…" He murmured quietly to himself, looking away as his grip tightened… tightened… the tears building… laughing softly…_

_It was just him, and a corpse.'_

_

* * *

_

He had killed her. He had killed _someone_… all because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, he had _enjoyed _it… hadn't he? Squeezing the life out of her… tightening his grip over her pale flesh… no… No!

"Sherlock?"

He froze.

"We need to talk…"

He didn't reply. _He's caught me crying, damn it… He's going to ask what's happened… He's going to ask…_ John sighed.

"Just… Just _stop_!" He yelled loudly. That wasn't John, was it? He never yelled so loud… And it frightened him.

And he did stop.

Just like that.

"You _disappear_ for hours, leaving me here… alone… worried_. _You don't reply to any of my calls. NOTHING!" John paused, glancing at the whimpering form."Then you return, not telling me _anything_ about what you did, where you went… None of my business? Or are you hiding something…? _Tell me, Sherlock… TELL ME!"_

He said nothing. What could he say?

"Lestrade called, as you know…" He spoke quieter, scarily quieter. Sherlock didn't understand, what had he done to upset him so much? "So I went. It was a murder of a girl, Sherlock. Ring any bells? Or is it, like Lestrade said, a coincidence? With you disappearing, bored, then a sudden murder?"

He stopped breathing. He knew! He knew… Slowly, Sherlock turned round to face John, grief-stricken, whimpering. The tears stained his face.

"I…" he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. _I had no choice… _He finished,_ I didn't want to… _John froze, shock spreading across his features.

Nervously, John stumbled his way towards Sherlock. Once within reach, he grasped the whimpering form tightly into a hug. But he didn't return it. Upon touch, Sherlock tensed up, scared. _What was he going to do?_

"I'm… sorry…" John said after several minutes, after Sherlock had quietened down. _He didn't know… _Sherlock thought, relaxing. _He didn't know what I did… That was too close._

But he couldn't reply, he was too confused, scared. Instead, all he could manage was a muffled whimper.

* * *

**AN: Me again... Was it ok, and meet your expectations? Or was it a bit/too OOC**..

**Anyway... Review..!**


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